Expensive shops are cool and empty.
Cheap shops are hot and crowded.
Empty shops with five staff standing around are off-putting.
I have expensive taste, and am sometimes cool, sometimes hot and often off-putting.
a hotel or shopping centre, indoors
kids / youths misbehaving
i don’t see this
people I am with (Jim, Rose, others) decide to tackle them
we stand by doorways, watching for them as crowds pass
i don’t know who I’m looking for; watch the others for signs of recognition
now outside
a large yellow skip filled with rubbish
large glass windows reflect the street, people walking
we are standing on the road next to the skip
it is on a hill
i look up
a man places a beer glass on a first-floor stone windowsill, even though the window is closed
he is skinny, looks rough
he opens the window, knocks the glass to the pavement
the glass explodes, leaving huge shards pointing upwards
the man tuts
the beer runs from the pavement towards the gutter
a girl approaches one of the largest jags of glass
i call to her to leave it
Sunny day. Blue sky. Parched grass.
I see someone set fire to rubbish on a bank of earth outside the school.
It catches quickly.
No-one calls the fire service.
As I walk home I look back, see smoke rising, large flames.
Decide to call them myself.
Fumble with my mobile.
Geordie man who answers pauses and stalls.
He’s talking either to himself or to someone who is with him.
He’s taking no notice of me, not asking details about the fire.
I realise that by the time he has gathered the necessary information the fire will have burned itself out.
Rose and I are recording a track somewhere.
A studio complex.
It’s dark, like a club. Crowded.
Lots of stairs and small rooms. Very busy.
Full of music industry professionals.
Radiohead are working in the same building.
We meet Jonny Greenwood.
He introduces us to Thom Yorke.
We ask Yorke if he will play something on our recording, just so we can say he has. Anything.
He offers to tap two pieces of metal on top of a filing cabinet, but seems reluctant, as if he gets asked to do this sort of thing every other day.
We play the track.
As far as someone tapping two pieces of metal on top of a filing cabinet goes, it’s genius.
Rose returns. Asks me how it sounded.
I say it’s great. Someone’s mixing the track and that will really bring it out.
The members of Radiohead observe our conversation, silent and impassive.
I’m delighted to be able to announce that my third novel, THE LIBERTY GUN, is now available on the Kindle e-book reader.
kids in school, not my school
people I used to know
I did something bad
stole someone’s football medal or something or found it and didn’t hand it in
the kid (are you there, Dean West?) was really upset
everyone really pissed off with me
I hand him the item back feeling sheepish
give him the opportunity to smack me in the face if he wants to, in front of the whole class
he takes me up on this offer
the classroom is on the first floor
the light outside is bright
Following two weekends in which formula two and formula one motorsport saw accidents in which one driver died and another driver was seriously injured there is discussion regarding safety. Well, sorry, guys, but F1 has to be dangerous, otherwise you might as well send out cars remotely controlled from the pit lane. No-one wants to go back to the one-in-fifteen chance of a driver being killed that was the statistic in the early 70s, but if you want to avoid any danger whatsoever, just don’t bother. Or if you want to make a change that will improve the sport, make it a rule that all cars must have three pedals and a proper gearstick.
I’m with Will Sergeant from Echo and the Bunnymen
He’s selling guitar straps.
Has a selection of colours laid out on a tray.
They look like poached eggs.
Someone I can’t see says you should do a blue one.
He says he doesn’t have anything to with the manufacturing or choosing of colours.
Besides, people only ever buy black ones.
We ponder this, looking down at the tray.
i am in a street talking to an old guy
he has grey hair and grey stubble
he was once a crook, has done some bad things he can’t or won’t tell me about.
I tell him to try writing it all down
but he’s still selling coke to drunkard-galagher folk in this place of vandalised cars and grafiti.
I’m talking to Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead.
He’s using his laptop.
How many emails do you get from fans? I ask.
Millions a day, he replies.
Do you actually read any of them?
I ignore anything that begins with ‘hello’.
